


we know the kids are right

by silentghosts



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentghosts/pseuds/silentghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in love with Jack felt like he was being set on fire, it burned through every cell of his body, lighting him up from the inside. They played like their lives were on the line and kissed each other like they were drowning and the other was a breath of fresh air. It was dangerous, it's was intoxicating, and then it was gone.</p>
<p>Kent didn’t expect to ever get over Jack, not when months later, years later, he still felt like he was burning from the inside out.</p>
<p>Yet somehow he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we know the kids are right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rest/gifts).



> For Rest who asked for Kent Parson to be given the Boyfriend he deserves, thank you for the brilliant prompt, and for the giggles it gave me when I first read it at 5am causing my mind to immediately go to Kent having a android boyfriend. Thats not what happens, but the thought is entertaining.
> 
> Also to everyone who held my hand while I wrote this, you're the real MVP's here.

When he fell in love with Jack, it was quick, it was fast, it was a mess of hockey and adrenaline and finally crushing their lips together in the back corner of the locker room, hours after everyone else had gone home. Being in love with Jack felt like he was being set on fire, it burned through every cell of his body, lighting him up from the inside. They played like their lives were on the line and kissed each other like they were drowning and the other was a breath of fresh air. It was dangerous, it's was intoxicating, and then it was gone.

 

Kent didn’t expect to ever get over Jack, not when months later, years later, he still felt like he was burning from the inside out.

 

  

 

He goes to Samwell with a half-baked plan in a car flashier than he had intended, because it was all the rental company had left for the night. He goes hoping for something, for anything, for just one glimmer that Jack still feels the same way Kent does. He leaves with less than he came with. Kent supposes it makes sense that at least one of them has moved on after five years. He just wishes it was him.

Stumbling into his hotel room, Kent rakes his hands down his face again, unsure of how he could’ve been so stupid. _Of course Jack doesn’t still love him_ , he thinks bitterly as he pitches his phone across the room towards his bed, watching as it bounces along the covers towards the pillows. His hat follows as he rips it off almost viciously, disassembling the parts of Kent Parson, first overall, Stanley Cup Winner and Captain of the Las Vegas Aces. The media narrative had been set up for him since before even everything happened. Jack was always the serious one, the focused one. Kent was the wild card, a little bit cocky and more than a tad reckless. When Jack... when Jack left--left Kent feelings like an open wound, an exposed nerve, Kent stepped into the role created for him, the role he never wanted but one he had to play if he wanted to survive. He had seen what had happened if you tried to fight it and he didn’t want to be like Jack. Five years later, stepping back into that role in Jack's room in a frat house in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, Massachusetts, felt like putting on a old coat, a layer of protection against Jack’s cold eyes. Now, peeling it off again, he feels exposed, scrubbed raw as he reaches across to where his phone had landed, holding down the 2 until the dial tone sounds.

 

 

Kent never meant for Ethan _fucking_ Tackett to find out, he never meant for anyone one to find out, but particularly not the first line center on the Seattle Schooners, Team USA or not. It’s at the end of Kent's rookie year and Aces had missed a playoff spot by a mile, and he knows he should have expected this, should have seen it coming. It's not like they are even a team on the rebuild, they are just building. But as summer looms and the lockers are cleared out, Kent is relieved to receive an invitation to Worlds; he is ready to get out of Vegas, to escape the stares of teammates and the eyes of the media, every single one of them wanting to ask if he’s okay, to ask if they can do better next year. Kent’s not really sure of the answer himself.

Ethan finds out two nights into the tournament after their first loss to Canada. Kent’s scratching away at the sensitive skin on the side of his neck nervously as they walk back to their room together, his body thrumming with alcohol, his brain unable to reconcile the fact that there was no Jack on his side of the ice, on the other side of the faceoff dot, that there was no Jack here anywhere. The carefully constructed illusion that Kent had been holding in place all season shattered, because Jack wasn’t here, wasn’t coming back and Kent can fool himself all he likes, but that's just the way it is. 

Kent doesn’t mean to tell Tacks as they stumble into their room, doesn’t mean to explain how he still looks for him on the ice, in the locker room, in his bed. How more often than not he still has nightmares about not waking up in time, about how sometimes he dreams about him being the one to take the pills instead. The entire time Tacks says nothing, because what are you supposed to say when someone you barely know outside of a divisional expansion rivalry suddenly tells you that their best friend, their boyfriend OD’ed the night before the draft and that they can't stop dreaming about it. In the end, Ethan holds him while he cries, tremors racking through Kent's body like shockwaves from almost a year of playing the role of being okay, the illusion of it all falling to pieces on the wet bathroom floor.

USA never makes it to the finals, but Kent thinks it might be okay after all, he feels lighter after telling Tacks. Even if Ethan Tackett wouldn’t have been his first choice to confess his deepest, darkest secret to, it might have been a good one.

 

 

“E, I fucked up,” he manages to choke down the phone before the crushing feeling in his chest that he had been feeling since he saw Zimms-- Jack huddled up next to the blond kid against the wall finally threatens to suffocate him. It feels like a millennium before Ethan replies, his measured breaths over the phone feeling like nail after nail in Kent's already firmly shut coffin.

“Kenny, please tell me you didn’t,” he eventually replies with, regardless of the fact that he already knows, has probably already seen the pictures.

“Kent you have to talk to me, man. Fuck, why are you not in Vegas right now, I could be there by tomorrow morning. Fuck, just please, tell me you didn’t tell Jack you still love him, please give me that at least.” He breaks off in a string of curses as Kent finds himself staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should have gone with that instead, with I love you instead of I miss you, maybe then Jack would still be his. Regardless, Kent banishes the thought from his mind as quickly as possible; he saw how Jack looked when he kissed him, like he had betrayed someone, saw how he looked at the kid in the hallway. Kent doesn’t think it takes much to put two and two together, but then again, what does Kent know about love anyway.

“I didn’t,” he finally whispers back. “I told him I missed him though,” he continues with a whimper.

“God Kenny, I just-- what did he say?” Ethan replies They talked about this enough before, in his ‘yearly therapy sessions’ as Eths called them, when the season was over and both of them were sick of the eyes of the world on them and retreated underground for weeks at a time instead.

“He told me to leave,” Kent says, tears spilling from the outer corner of his eyes as he clutches his hand so tightly around his phone that it almost hurts.

“You didn’t deserve that, Kenny. Sure, you fucked up cornering him their like that, but you both made mistakes.”

“I know, I just. E, I thought for a second that maybe I could have him back, and I can’t.”

“Hey, you never know, maybe he will sign with Seattle and I will have the pleasure of punching him in the face daily.” Ethan laughs. Even down the phone it sounds weak; as much as he has threatened violence upon Jack throughout the years, Kent knows nothing would ever come of it, he’s too good like that.

“I think he is going to sign with the Falcs, actually, which makes no sense. He could have practically any team he wants and he chooses them,” Kent rants, the leftover anger bubbling out of him, leaving him feeling wrung dry  as he finally collapses backwards onto the bed.

“Fuck the Falcs, eh?” Eths chirps, a line the both of them have repeated far too much over the years, because while the Schooners and the Aces have the in-division rivalry, the Falcs are the mutual East Coast enemy, it bonds people like that.

“Yeah, Fuck the Falcs.”

 

 

They see each other in late February, meeting up after their separate morning skates for lunch around the corner from the rink that the Schooners practiced at.

“This place better have decent food, Parse, because I swear, if this is part of some plan to beat me at the face off tonight, it’s not happening,” Ethan scoffs, bumping Kent into the door frame as they walk in.

The lighthearted chirping continues as they settle at the table, trash talking over team rankings ( _I can’t fucking believe your shitty Vegas expansion team is still at the top of the division_ ), and Ethan missing the All Star Game ( _I had the flu, asshole, I missed 4 games_ ). As their food arrives, Kent keeps expecting Eths to bring it up, to bring up the phone call, to bring up Jack .

Instead, they head back to Kent’s for their pregame nap, because everyone knows that hotel beds are the worst and it's not like they haven't shared before; at the Olympics, the pair of them were often found in the same bed for pregame nap, having fallen asleep watching tv or just being too lazy to move.  As they strip down, Kent throws a USA shirt across the room, followed by a pair of sweats, before ducking out of the room to check on Kit. When he gets back, Ethan's already curled up on the far side of the bed on top of the covers, but with the throw blanket tightly wrapped around his waist, the sight of the letters forming the word _Parson_ stretched across the back of his shoulders causing Kent lips to quirk as he struggles to suppress a chirp. Something about the moment, about the slow rise and fall of Ethan's body as he breathes seems too much for him to ruin. Instead he lies down on his side of the bed, reaching over to tug at the blanket until Eths rolls over to face him.

“You going to spoon me or not, Tacks? You’re supposed to be comforting me here.” He laughs, allowing himself to be maneuvered until Ethan is tucked up behind him, his arm draped carelessly over Kent's hip as a soft huff of air brushes against the back of his neck.

“Are we talking about this now, or are we saving it for later?” Ethan questions.

“Later, naps now.” Kent sighs, pushing back into the heat of his body, closing his eyes and drifting off.

 

 

The Aces win that night, and they don’t talk about it. They go out, they come back to Kent's, they crash out on the couch wrapped around each other and they still don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about Jack, and they don’t talk about what that means to Kent.

 

 

Kent might be drunk, but in his defense, it is the Fourth of July, it is his birthday, the boys have been plying him with drinks all day, and Jack had just sent him a _fucking_ picture message of him and the blonde kid-- _Bitty_ , Kent reminds himself, sitting in the back of a truck in _fucking Georgia_. Him and Jack struck up an awkward truce after he had officially signed with Providence, but Kent isn’t sure when that awkward truce extended to sending cute snaps of him and his boyfriend to Kent.

It’s not that Kent couldn’t have a boyfriend if he wanted, he is the captain of a Stanley Cup winning hockey team. _My ESPN Body Issue Shoot broke Twitter_ , he thinks as he stumbles across the deck towards the pool chair where Ethan has been resting for the past hour, before effectively crumpling on top of him in a heap.

“E, he doesn’t love me.” Kent whispers, his face tucked into Ethan's neck, his voice pitched low so that no one but them can hear.

“God, Kenny, it's your fucking birthday, why are you still letting him do this to you.” Ethan groans, turning his body in such a way that has Kent falling from his precarious position on his lap into his arms, their faces inches apart. “You're better than him, Kenny, and one day, you're going to see that you deserve better. One day, you’re going to find someone who looks at you like you looked at Jack.”

“You really think that?” Kent asks, his voice cracking and betraying all his darkest fears. Even when him and Jack were Jack and Kent, it always felt like Kent needed him more and the idea that someone could need him that much, could love him that much, seems terrifying.

“Of course, you fucking nub, you're going to find someone and you are going to light up their whole fucking world, okay? You're going to find someone who would go to war for you and come back home at the end of the day and watch fucking Sci-Fi films with you, you asshole,” he replies, holding Kent closer for just a moment, the sides of their heads pressing together before he pushes Kent off the sun chair, sending him sprawling across the deck.

“Tacks, you ass!” Kent groans, rolling himself upright. “I can’t believe you said nice things and then pushed me off the fucking chair, you dick.”  

“Go find Jeff, drunky, he was looking for you before.” Ethan laughs, reaching out an arm to ruffle Kent's hair as he attempts to squirm away. “And I meant it, okay? You are going to find someone who thinks the world of you,” he finishes, turning away to continue sunbathing, oblivious to the smile spreading across Kent's face.

 

 

They light up the ice together at the All Star game. Kent's been on teams with Tacks before of course, Worlds, the Olympics, the All Star Game a couple of years back. But they have never been on the same line, never played like this-- it's effortless and beautiful, and as he flings himself into Eths’ arms as the final buzzer sounds, it feels like they just won the Stanley Cup instead of an All Star Game.

 

 

“Look, Jeff, all I’m saying is that we were fucking drift compatible, like if alien monsters started attacking us from the ocean tomorrow, I would be calling Tacks and telling him to get on the first flight to San Fran the second the Jaeger program starts up,” Kent says, shoving another handful of fries in his mouth as Jeff stares at him in shock. 

“You do realize that I understood maybe three words of what you just said, right?” Jeff replies, chuckling as Kent aims a half-hearted kick at him under the table.

“Dude, it came out over the summer like two years ago! How have you still not watched it?”

“Maybe because I got married over the summer two years ago? Surely you remember that, Kenny? You were there, after all,” Jeff chirps, reaching across to steal a fry from Kent's plate as a smug grin spreads across his face.

“Of course I remember, you numbskull, I just don’t get what you being married has to do with you not seeing one of the best movies in recent years.”

“Well, you see, Parse, instead of spending my evenings watching geeky films alone, I spend them getting off with my lovely wife. You know, having sex. Which is something you should apparently try, instead of getting inappropriate hockey boners for Ethan fucking Tackett while you’re away at the All Star Game. God, Parse, you do realize he plays for the Schooners, right?” Jeff says, throwing a pitying look at Kent before returning to his mission of stealing all of Kent's fries. 

“It’s not a fucking hockey boner,” Kent mumbles into the lip of his glass as Jeff continues scarfing fries down. It isn’t a fucking hockey boner; in fact, Kent is 80% sure it is just a plain old regular boner. One that he sure as fucking hell hopes  goes away before they have to play Seattle again because Kent for one does _not_ think that making fucking _heart eyes_ across the faceoff circle is a good tactic for winning a hockey game.

He has two weeks. It doesn’t matter they they played beautiful fucking hockey together, Kent can do this, maybe, except for the fact that the last time Kent felt this way about someone's hockey, it was about _Jack’s hockey._

 

 

February starts in a rush, with Jeff still out for at least another week with his ankle injury, a five game homestand ahead of them and the trade deadline looming. Kent would be able to forget for a moment that their second game back after the All Star Break was against Seattle, if not for his incessant thoughts about Tacks’ hockey and Zimms’ hockey, and trying to work out what the fuck he is supposed to do with this information. Even if Kent wanted to do something, Ethan would have to feel the same way and then even while the distance between Seattle and Vegas isn’t horrible, they are still on rival teams. Kent has the C and four years left on his current contract, and no plans to go anywhere, and deep down he knows that a player of Tacks’ level should be in Seattle for the long run, even if they have been struggling the past couple of years.

 

 

By the time Thursday night rolls around, despite what he told Jeff, Kent is not ready. Not when his stomach has taken to clenching painfully at the thought of Ethan, and the thought of having to stare him down across a face off circle seems unnatural after just two games together. Not when he got fucking butterflies when he bumped into him in the hallways earlier, Tacks already on his way to find him to wish him good luck.

With just minutes until warm ups, Kent is pacing, much to the distress of some of the rookies, who can’t seem to put a finger on what has their Captain so worked up before what is, in the scheme of things, an unremarkable game. By the time his skates touch the ice, Kent isn’t sure if he wants to fight the first person who so much as looks at him weird, throw up, or just grab Tacks by the front of his jersey and smash their lips together. Instead, he clamps down on his nerves, squashes the butterflies and resolves not to look at Eths unless he absolutely has to.

 

 

The game goes terribly. The Aces scrape by with a win, but only through sheer force of will during overtime when one of the kids manages to tip in a fucking filthy rebound off a skate blade for his first NHL goal. Ethan's on the ice at the time, and Kent could see the way his shoulders slump when it goes in, his entire body sagging in defeat. As he hops over the boards to go join the line of players helmet bumping Weaves and congratulating Archie who hasn’t stopped grinning since the puck went in, Kent snuck a glance towards the visitors exit, watches the jersey marked Tackett disappear down the shoot and wants nothing more than to follow.

 

 

If falling in love with Jack was quick, a flurry of passes and rushed kisses and fire flooding through his veins, then falling in love with Ethan was coming home. It was nights spent on the couch wrapped around each other, it was locked eyes across the ice and a warm glow spreading through his body at the very thought of them being an us.

 

 

Walking into the players parking lot, seeing Tacks leaning back against his car, head buried in his phone and hair still a mess from his post-game shower, Kent can’t stop his heart from stuttering. They both know what tonight means, that tonight is the talk they have been putting off since this time last year, the talk that they had really been putting off since the Olympics, the talk that Kent doesn’t want to have, but, looking at Ethan right now, Kent knows it might just be a talk worth having.

“What do you say to _E.T._ tonight, E.T.? After all, I did win, so that means I get to pick the movie, right?” Kent finally says, causing Ethan's eyes to snap up from his phone, the unknowing tension in the air snapping like a rubber band. His eyes light up as they meet Kent's the same way they always have, but somehow more.

“For you, Kenny, I might just say yes,” Ethan replies, smirking, his eyes sparking as Kent desperately tries to recover from the sudden feeling of being punched in the gut. Because Kent's seen that look before, Kent's worn that look before, Kent's pretty sure that exact same look is on his his face right now, and he reaches out, tentatively grasping for Ethan’s hand.

“Really?” Kent can’t help but ask, his voice uncharacteristically soft, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest.

“Of course, you fucking nub, now let's get in the car, we can talk on the way home. Also you are ordering pizza and you are paying, because I can’t believe your rookie scored the game winning goal. You know how far down the bottom of the table we are now, Parse? Rock bottom,” Ethan says, his hand squeezing tighter around Kent’s for a second before letting go, only to reach for his hand again the second Kent gets in on his side of the car.

 

 

That night, they fall asleep asleep on the couch tangled around each other, the sound of _E.T._ playing in the background. At some point during the night, Ethan wakes up, pulls Kent with him towards his room and tucks them into bed with a simple kiss.

 

 

Kent wakes up the next morning to a mop of brown hair, a smile on his face, and the overwhelming sense that he gets to keep This. _This_ was what Ethan was talking about on the Fourth. Being in love with Ethan isn’t fast, it isn’t messy, it isn’t making out in empty locker rooms and in the dark corners of parties. It is finding the best burrito place in town, it is watching Sci-fi movies until 2am even when they are 900 miles apart, it is waking up to mouth full of brown hair and putting on USA jerseys in stalls next to each other knowing it means something.

“Morning,” Kent whispers when he finally feels Ethan begin to stir against his chest, pressing a feather light kiss to the top of his head just because he can. “I can’t believe you let me watch _E.T._ last night, Tacks. You hate that movie,” he chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest as Ethan groans and rolls over, tilting his head up towards Kent's, eyes still blinking tiredly against the morning light.

“I know, but you don’t, so that's alright.”

Maybe later that day they will have to return to reality when Ethan has to fly back to Seattle, but the Aces have an Northwest road trip at the end of this homestand, and then there's playoffs and the entirety of the summer, and a thousand other 2ams between now and then.

For now, Kent tilts his head forward, ignoring Ethan's muffled complaints of morning breath and finally kisses him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @[jlzimmermann](www.jlzimmermann.tumblr.com)


End file.
